OOC Of Tyrants and Patriots [18+]

[EpicVakarian]

*waits patiently for CCs*

I'm moving in the next 3 days btw, so from the weekend onwards, don't expect anything much from me, other than quick check-ins.

 

[Aden Komad]

It's alright. Still waiting to see if this garners enough interest and working on the initial posts.

 

[T. Rakinson]

Thomas Rakinson​

(sorry, not the best pic, all I could find on this computer)​

Full name: Thomas Ramal Rakinson

Race: Redguard

Gender: Male

Age: 24

Bitrhplace: Sentinel, Hammerfell

Alliances/Afflictions: Boethia's Curse*

Occupation: Mercenary, Hunter, Tracker

Appearance: (see above). Grey, wizened eyes, long braided brown hair (including dirt & tears), Lightly tanned complexion (based upon linearage & environment), Youthful yet dark brown Beard.

Apparel: Stolen Redguard Clothes & boots, supplemented by compact leather armour underneath for protection. Golden bands to support hair braids.

Weaponry: Sharp, ebony-coated Schmitar, Novice-Adept level fire destruction spells. Basic Conjuration magic, primarily spells that repel daedra. carries a quiver of arrows, but no bow.

Personality: Despite his young age & cheerful persona, Thomas has suffered a hard life, & it shows, despite his attempts to hide it. Subsequently prone to mood swings, ranging from a sociable, charming member of society to a quiet, silent outcast. Likes combat almost as much as peace, & can sometimes get carried away during times of bloodshed. Thoughtful of people's personal issues, even if it dosent appear so. Angered by force of change.

History

Childhood: Born to the Ramal-Rakinson family of Sentinel, Thomas was a strong child, perhaps destined for a life as a dockhand or traveling merchant. His father was distant for unknown reasons, But his mother & Older brother Hamir gave him love & support. His life, though perhaps not the most interesting, was a safe one.
Yet all this was to change. By the age of 10, Thomas had developed an unpredictable behaviour, & at some point found himself lost on the outskirts of the city. Captured by cultists who had been operating in the area, Thomas was kidnapped, never to be seen by his family again.
Brought to Skyrim under the forced disguise of a slave, Thomas found himself presented as a sacrifice of Boethia's Champion, an infamous worshiper of the respective daedric prince. Fortunatly he was saved by the unprompted arrival of a Altmer warrior named Cyrus Guallious. In the confusion Thomas managed to fatally injure his would-be executioner, unwittingly taking on the Dunmer's curse.
After escaping with Cyrus, the Altmer took pity on the lost boy, & decided to adopt him. from there they traveled to the Mer's retreat up in the Falkreath-Riften mountain range. There he met who would become his surrogate family; Cyrus, his Nord wife Angi, & their daughter Brendela, who was a few years younger than him. All of them were outcasts of society, yet they all accepted one another.

Teenhood: Thomas spent over Eight years with his new family, with his old one becoming mere memories to him. He learned to hunt, produce fire via magic, & when to approach & avoid society. As Thomas grew up in seclusion he never developed any romantic attachments, meaning the concept of non-platonic love simply passed over him. In his later teen years this caused him to avoid setlements completely, avoiding them during hunting trips.
As Thomas prepared to say goodbye to his family as he set off into the world at 19, his home was attacked by a dragon, one of the few who had survived the Dragon conflict years ago. Unable to defeat the beast the family were seperated, each presuming the others dead.

Adulthood: For the next few years Thomas wandered the plains of Skyrim & Cyrodil, unsure where his life would take him. Earning money as a hunter & mercenary, he formed attachments to some people, but deep down desired to have a family again. He endlessly wandered hoping to find the his surrogate parents & sibling, yet never encountered them in his travels. Only rarely did he rejoin society, more out of loneliness than protection.
After Five long years Thomas had given up on his search, realising the cruelty of the world & how it weighed down on him, through his loneliness & daedric affliction. After thinking it over he made plans to return to his Blood family in Hammerfell, only to hear of the dictator Tiberius had conquered his homeland, & was en route to claim Skyrim.
mad at Tiberius 7 what he stood for, Thomas decided to join the Nords in their freedom fight, heading to Whiterun through knowledge of its military power.


*Affliction- Boethia's instrument

The effect this curse has had on Thomas could be linked to his darker personality & desire to be alone. When Thomas fatally wounded Boethia's champion, he unwittingly beame the new champion of the daedric prince of plots. Refusing to take on this dark role, Thomas became cursed; In times of selfishness, desire or rage, he... transforms. Into an ebony coated warrior with destructive intent, zero morality & inhuman skill.

(Dont mistake this for being an OP twist. This affliction is uncontrollable & rarely strikes, balancing out BI's skill. it shouldent really come up in the RP, but as it largely contributes to his story, I feel it was worth including, rather than telling you all later).

Writing sample: (What lurks in the dark, expired)

The scream was what woke him up.

He had no idea where it came from, the noise was so loud it felt like it was coming from everywhere at once. He grabbed his ears and quickly stumbled over to the steps, trying to figure out the source. once he reached the roof of his little turret he stared through the misty fog, tracking down the direction of its owner to the bottom of the mountain. the voice seemed human, so he automatically stared in the direction of riverwood.

"oh cr**" Thomas Rakinson muttered.
The scene was terrible-looking, even from a distance. Buildings, or at least what remained of them, were on fire, omniously illuminating a river turned deathly crimson from the streams of blood trickling down from the villages pathway. And the corpses.
Some looked relatively unscathed, like whoever; or whatever had killed them had been in a rush. Others looked like they were fresh out of quagmire, with missing appendages, skin and, in some instances...

Thomas looked away. It was just too much.
As he sat there, trying to withold both tears and vomit, he tried guessing what may have painted such a grotesque, twisted scene.
Dragons? No. The buildings were destroyed, but the flames were too small and he would have heard roars. Vampires? It couldent have been, there was too much blood left.

Someone had to be warned. What had happened here must never be repeated. He could not- no he would not let this happen again. He would head to Whiterun and warn the authorities of what had happened here, even if someone else had.
But then he heard the scream again, and this time it was closer, on his side of the river, and he knew that he could not let the owner of the scream down. Grabbing only his sword and robes he rushed out of the turret into the looming wall of fog.

Dialouge colour: Red

"Longest. CC. Ever!"​

 

[TheVeryHungryCaterpillar]

Hi there (-: I'm new to the forums, but not to roleplaying. This looks like a very interesting idea and I'm surprised it hasn't garnered more attention. I'll post a CC soon.

 

[T. Rakinson]

Welcome to the (roleplay) forums. Always nice to see new faces.

 

[TheVeryHungryCaterpillar]

Thank you c:
Okay, here's my CC, let me know if I need to change/add anything.

Name: Arria Livius

Alias: Cara

Race: Imperial

Age: 20

Birthplace: Riften, Skyrim

Alliances or Affiliations: Herself, her family

Occupation: Noble, thief

Appearance: Arria has a toned and slim physique and stands at about 5’5. Her skin is quite pale and smooth, as until fairly recently she had never done a day’s work in her life. Her face is still quite childlike with large hazel eyes and a small slightly upturned nose. She has somewhat inconveniently long brown hair that she wears as a braid in battle. She has several scars across her torso and arms that she acquired quite recently.

Gear: She wears a set of leather armour, though without a helmet. She wields dual steel swords and carries several daggers and knives.

Personality:
Outwardly, Arria is usually polite and well-spoken. She has an air of nobility that she is still learning to conceal. She is mostly friendly, though somewhat reticent when with unfamiliar people. She is not a very empathetic person and does not value life very highly. She can be quite irresponsible, especially with money, and can be very impulsive. She is vengeful and very quick to anger and tries to prevent heated discussion for this reason (often to no avail). In battle, she can be very reckless and fearless, sometimes stupidly so. She has few morals and is not above thievery, assault and murder. She can be quite sadistic and often finds other’s misfortune amusing. She is pyrophobic.


History:

Arria was born into an extremely wealthy and well-connected Imperial family. Her mother lived as a socialite, her family running a shipment company. Arria’s father’s family owned a established winery that exported to much of Tamriel, of which he was in charge of managing their exports to Skyrim. She grew up on her families estate east of Riften with her three sisters and two brothers, though made frequent trips across Skyrim in her childhood. Her family was the epitome of opulence and corruption, her father being quite well-known for a past of hedonism. Whilst her family lived in grandeur, their servants and peasants were mistreated and underpaid.

As a child, Arria was granted everything she wished for. She had an abundance of jewellery and pretty dresses, several of her own horses and large private quarters. Her parents raised her and her sisters to be what they envisioned perfect women. She was taught about Tamriel’s history and culture, basic knowledge of the arcane, how a nobel ought to act and the place of a woman. Arria did not enjoy these lessons very much, preferring to play with swords with her brothers. However, much of what was taught was drilled into her mind and her gait, her accent and her mannerisms are very reflective of the upper class.

Despite having everything given to her, Arria found life as a noble to be rather boring. She loved the opulence of her life, but it lacked excitement. She would frequently misbehave to amuse herself, doing activities like pickpocketing guests, climbing on the roof and breaking windows. Her parents would severely punish her for her actions, but this did not deter her.

When her family heard about the coup in Hammerfell her parents immediately stopped the children’s lessons and instead began training the children in basic combat, fearing they were in danger. Their sons had been taught melee and ranged combat for years, but it was very knew to all the daughters but Arria, who loved to train with her brothers in secret. Arria had an aptitude for swords, but had poor technique due to lack of proper instruction until then.

When Skyrim was invaded by Tiberius’ forces, the peasants working for the Livius family were quick to revolt. They had worked in appalling conditions for a very long time, so the idea of revolution was extremely appealing to them. They torched the estate and killed much of Arria’s family. Arria was always a clever child, so she donned one of the maids dresses and covered her hands, face and hair with dirt and coal to conceal her identity. She fled the burning estate on one of her horses, taking only her weapons and a few jewels, as all she knew went up in flames behind her. She has no idea of the state of her family, but presumes they all lie dead.

Arria spent the next few months killing and stealing to provide for herself. She has found most of her childhood lessons of little use, though restoration and alchemy has been exceptions. She has continued to pose as a member of the lower class, trading her given names for the alias of ‘Cara’. However her act is not very convincing if one examines her closely. There are a lot of things Cara wants; her wealth, her social status, her family, but most of all she wants revenge. She wants to torture and destroy Tiberius Acheron, and despite her limited experience and skill, she is willing to do anything to do so.


Writing Sample:

Cara rode her horse as fast as it could take her. She did not bear think of her home, her family, the life she left behind. She wasn’t sure how long she had been riding but eventually she had to rest. She brought her horse, a lovely black mare named Darling, to a stop and dismounted it, securing it to a nearby tree with a rope. The forest was dense around them and she hoped it would provide some shelter from both the bitter chill of Skyrim’s air and whatever evils were lurking nearby.

She laid down on the forest floor, curling into a ball to provide some warmth that the pathetic piece of cloth her maids called clothing would not. She fell into a restless sleep, her body concealed behind a large fallen tree. All too soon, she was woken by the sound of footsteps. Cara stayed very still as she caught sight of a bandit nearby, his heavy boots the source of the noise. She held her breath, dagger in hand as the man walked past her, oblivious to her presence.

The bandit approached her beautiful mare and began working on the rope that attached it to the tree, struggling to untangle the knot. Cara noted his stupidity of not thinking to simply cut the rope with the sword strapped to his waist.

She slowly inched herself into a crouch, keeping the noise she made to an absolute minimum. She couldn’t help the rustling of the leaves and twigs below her, but they went unheard by the bandit over the sound of her horse’s whinnies. She crept towards him, heart pounding in her chest as she prayed she would remain unseen. In a swift, but clumsy movement, she reached up and dragged her blade across his throat, leaving a jagged, deep wound. The bandit spun around, blood spilling profusely from his neck. Cara jumped backwards as he staggered forward and fell onto the forest floor, a growing puddle of blood forming around his head. She watched him, eyes wide, as his last breath left him. He was her first kill.

After a few feeble attempts she turned the man over so he lay on his back. Cara searched the body, finding herself strangely not disgusted by his bloody form. She took several gold pieces from him, not finding anything else of use to her. She walked over to her horse, who was slightly spooked from the ordeal and calmed her down before cutting the rope tied to the tree. She mounted the mare and rode off into the distance, wondering what her next move should be.

 

[Blitzz]

I think I will be able to put a CC up tonight but it will take me am extremely long time to write it on my phone


Sent from my iPod touch using Tapatalk

 

[Blitzz]

And please don't look on missing words and grammatical errors too harshly, I'm better with a laptop I assure you.


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[EpicVakarian]

Okay, I got an even more precise date(s). I'm getting my A-level results tomorrow and beginning to move into the new house, so you can expect me to be present but not as much as usual. On Friday, I'm actually moving in, and I won't have any internet connection until the next Thursday, which is the 21st. After that, I can be online as usual, and that should sum up everything you need to know.

 

[T. Rakinson]

So... am I accepted?

 

[Aden Komad]

Yes. I was just building dramatic tension.

 

[T. Rakinson]

...Dude, Ive been checking the forum all day!

 

[T. Rakinson]

Aha! found a close-up image on my tablet.

 

[Blitzz]

After 4 hours of gruelling autocorrect, thumb aches and staring at a tiny screen, here it is.

Name: Za-Kahaa
Titles: Hist's Chosen, Speaker for the Marshes, High Priest
Age: 37
Race: Argonian
Gender: Male
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 143lbs
Birthplace: Shadowfen
Laterality: Left handed
Sexuality: Asexual
Health: Healthy
Afflictions: None
Affiliations: Cult of the Hist
Religion: The Hist
Dialogue Colour: Orange

Appearance

Eyes: Thin, pale yellow
Hair: Two short spikes protruding from the back of his head, with a stream of yellow feathers running between from his brow to the back of his skull
Face: He has a small head, with a long face and wide nose. His cheekbones and jawline are very defined. He has no facial hair.
Skin: Pale brown
Scars: His hand is burned beyond effective use for anything other than spell-casting.
Build: He is quite thin and scrawny, boasting no considerable muscle or intimidating presence.

Personality

Positive features: Very intelligent, devoted and loyal, very trustworthy, talented with magic and a good teacher.

Negative features: Too friendly, narrow-minded, stubborn, easily persuaded but unwilling to consider alternate religion.

Likes: Teaching, preaching, praying, helping others

Dislikes: Unnecessary violence, alternate religion, blasphemy, people who are unwilling to forgive the crimes of others

Fears: Death, being too old to help others

Aspirations: To train and educate the next Hist's Chosen, and to put an end to the racial persecution that has befallen his people at the hands of the Tyrant lord.

Equipment

Apparel: A simple selection of rawhide tunics, with carved Hist-wood buttons. He wears a grey woollen robe over the top, the hood of which is adorned with three feathers pointed up; green for the land, blue for the waters and red for the blood of the people. He also wears a wide array of Hist-wood charms, bracelets, amulets, rings and circlets.

Weapons: He carries an ornate Hist-wood staff in his left hand, with warding symbols and various holy words engraved in it. He carries a small flint dirk, but otherwise relies solely on a collection of illusion and destruction magics.

Combat: As an Argonian Hist Priest, Za-Kahaa is well-versed in magic. He uses illusion magic to turn his foes against each other and destroy their will. If need be he has an array if secret dark magics known only to the priests of the Hist Cult, that rely heavily on the nature around them and the will if the Hist itself. If need be, he will stab enemies that get too close with his dirk.

History:

When Za-Kahaa was born, he was born into a proud family of village hunters in Shadowfen. He was his father's eldest son, but his third child. He was supposed to be his father's prized child, the heir to his family's legacy as the prominent hunters in Shadowfen. His oldest sister was skilled in medicine and alchemy, whilst his other sister was a talented huntress. When he was 2, his mother gave birth to a second son, and another when he was 5. At the age of eight, Za-Kahaa's father began training his son with a bow and a spear to learn to hunt, but after a year of practice he had proven himself a major disappointment to his father, whilst at 7 his younger brother was already showing talent as a marksman. When he failed to show progress, he was disowned and cast out by his father, against the will of his mother, who saw his potential as a healer.

Za-Kahaa lived on the streets alone for four months, struggling for survival and stealing food to live. During this time he found himself praying to the Hist more and more. One day when he was praying at a holy site in the swamps to an ancient Hist tree, he was discovered by a group of cultists, who took him to the temple nearby and gave him good and shelter. When he told them his story they questioned him about his beliefs, and once they were satisfied with the answer they offered to take him in and train him as a Hist Priest, so that he may one day pass on their teachings to hatchlings. He was sworn to celibacy.

Now 16, Za-Kahaa had all but mastered the teachings of the ancient Hist when the temple he called home fell victim to a great fire that swept through his village. He was sleeping at the time, and when he eventually awoke he was trapped in his subterranean quarters, with nothing but a foot-tall window 7 feet off the ground as an escape route. He manage to pull himself out mostly, but the building collapsed, and his right hand was trapped in the window, condemned to the flames. The pain made him pass out. When he awoke he was in his family's hut, and his right hand was burned beyond recognition, the skin charred and black and the fingers curled and twisted. He refused amputation.

A new temple was constructed and as soon as it was he was once again cast from his family home back out into the world at the age of 19. His closest friends, a priest named Keeveeza and a priestess named Gar-Kulij were both killed in the fire. He was, friend-wise, now alone at the temple.

With the Hist becoming his only true love, work took charge of Za-Kahaa's life, and it was not a surprise when, after the death of the former, he was chosen to train to take the mantle of Hist's Chosen, high priest to other cultures. At 28 he finished his training and at 31 the Hist's Chosen died. Now the third youngest Chosen in Black Marsh's history, he took up the role of finding a new apprentice. He chose a 22 year old female, an orphan like himself, named Vuu-Zirik.

Vuu-Zirik, however, was not fortunate, and died to disease at 25. His next apprentice, Xoorov, died after 3 months of training, killed in an accident whilst in Hist-Trance. Now, having lost two apprentices, Za-Kahaa thought that finding a new Chosen was his sole purpose. Until, of course, word spread of Argonians being targeted by Death Squads in northern Tamriel. Against the cult's objections, Za-Kahaa set his sights on travelling north to end the injustice and persecution, with the hope that the circumstances would bring out the best in a you g Argonian, an shine the light on the next Hist's Chosen of Shadowfen.

Writing Sample:

Dawn was breaking when Za-Kahaa's weary eyes opened. Sunlight forced its way through the gnarled branches of the swamp trees, and shards pierced the veil of shadows that hung heavy in the air of the Chosen's room. Apparently the chef had already been in this morning; a wooden plate was sat atop his wooden bedside table, displaying a slab of pink meat. His claws dug deep into the flesh and moved chunks towards his mouth on the ends of his fingers. It was slimy and cold as it slithered down his gullet. It was perch, a fine fish when properly prepared. This, however, was the standard he was used to. He cared not for extravagant meals and endless preparation. Any food was better than none. He lay there for a while as the sunlight crept further towards the bed of rock he slept on. As it began to climb his legs, Za-Kahaa rolled and stood, walking towards his wardrobe. A drab tunic went on first, then his robe. Today he wore black, with pale blue patterns around the hood and sleeves. The same three feathers that adorned all of his robes sat atop his head proudly like a peacock's fan. Two rings went on his left index finger, a bracelet around his wrist, and an amulet, a silver locket with a drop of Hist sap inside, went around his neck.

His walking stick was on a rack inside the wardrobe, above head level. He reached up and undid the clasps that held it in place, and lifted it out with both hands. It was exactly the right hight for him. He didn't need it to walk, he just liked to carry it, and it was good for keeping students in line. It made him look old and wise. Today would be tough; he was meant to be giving a service at the initiation of a well-respected townsman's son. The pressure would be immense, but he never let it get to him too much.

The staircase up to ground level at the end of the living quarters hallway was short and steep. Za-Kahaa practically skipped up it. The service was to begin in an hour, but the honoured family would be arriving about now. It was his job to go and greet them.

The hall of the temple was splendid. Rows of wooden seats lined the floor, with great colourful tapestries lining the walls. The stairs up to altar were carved stone, and the altar itself was little more than a tub of sap on a wooden stand. However, behind the altar was the largest Hist tree in Shadowfen. It towered up to the ceiling, and when that allowed no more room to grow upwards, it grew out great thick branches spread across the ceiling in all directions, and some had begun the descent down the temple's walls.

The doors swung open and Za-Kahaa turned his attention to the enormous man strolling towards him across the hall with wife and 7 children in tow. "Good morning, Priest." His father never had been a religious one. "Good morning, sir. Congratulations on your son's achievement."


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[T. Rakinson]

So... is this still going ahead?

 

[TheVeryHungryCaterpillar]

I was wondering the same thing, it's been awfully quiet the past few days...

 

[Aden Komad]

It is. I was waiting on more interest to see if I needed to allow others to have a chance to join, I should have the actual IC thread up tomorrow...er, today. Midnight at the latest.

 

[Aden Komad]

Also Vakarian was moving, so hopefully we can get started in earnest.

 

[Blitzz]

I may have missed it if it's there but any word on Za-Kahaa? Accepted or not, I mean?

 

[EpicVakarian]

I'm still moving, Aden. Give me a few days to finish.